


The Naughty List

by Vana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Santa Roleplay, Shameless Shipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 06:53:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stannis wants to know what Davos really wanted for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Naughty List

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [ikkiM](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/pseuds/ikkiM) for this wonderful prompt!

The dry Douglas fir was out on the sidewalk awaiting the city trucks, the carefully coiled lights were all back up in the attic, the ornaments were packed away in their eggshell crates, each crystal treasure in its own particular slot. The stockings were taken down, the Christmas cookies eaten and the mulled wine gone. The new calendar was up, the holiday cards down. Work was beginning again, and all the resolutions and possibilities of the new year.

And Stannis was depressed. He didn’t say it, but Davos found his partner in one of the living room chairs, staring into space.

“Everything OK over there?” Davos asked while he unpacked the groceries for the night’s dinner. In response, he got a noncommittal grunt. He shrugged to himself. Stannis would tell him what was going on when Stannis wanted to.

That turned out to be after dinner and the last bit of Christmas chocolate. One peppermint-white chocolate Hershey kiss. Stannis had declined it, but Davos insisted that they share. It was the first thing that had made Stannis smile in several days. 

“I’m just a little surprised it’s over,” Stannis said uneasily, gesturing to the empty mantel, the newly swept place in front of the living room window where the tree had stood. 

“Christmas? Vacation?”

“I suppose.” 

This was not like Stannis. Usually, he disliked any kind of festivities, or disruption to his carefully constructed routine. He tolerated what Davos liked to do during the holidays out of affection but he never enjoyed it. Even this year, he hadn’t seemed to like any of it much — the parties, the exchange of gifts, the walks around the streets of their town to see the light displays. That didn’t stop Davos from enjoying himself, but he’d always known how much he could expect from Stannis. 

“This is silly,” Stannis remonstrated himself. “It doesn’t merit discussion.” 

“Tell me anyway?” Davos asked gently. He took Stannis’ cold hand in his own, stroking the back of it with his thumb. The touch soothed Stannis as it always did. For such a self-reliant, remote man, it always surprised Davos just how much Stannis relied on touch for his well-being. He continued the slow brush of his fingertips against Stannis’  hand and waited.

“I don’t think… I don’t feel as though …” Stannis broke off, still troubled. “You cannot laugh at me, Davos.”

“I won’t. I wouldn’t.”

“I know,” he conceded. “The holidays are in large part about gifts, I’m starting to recognize that, being with you and your family and friends. You all give each other such thoughtful things. You give _me_ thoughtful gifts. You never seem to agonize over it like … like I do. You just know what people need and want. You have that talent.” He frowned at Davos, but didn’t shake his hand off. “And then me — I gave you … what? A tie? You don’t even wear ties.”

 “I loved it,” Davos protested. It was a wine-colored tie with a silver and grey geometric pattern. It was true that Davos hardly ever did wear ties, but if he had an occasion to wear one, that would be the one he chose.

“But it was pedestrian,” Stannis went on. He was getting himself worked up. “Mundane. Trite. Everyone gives his partner a tie for— Davos, you said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I’m not,” Davos said, “I’m only smiling about the way you phrased that. I promise. Go on.”

“That’s all. You gave me such thoughtful gifts this year. The houseboat — you _made_ that! How long did it take you to carve that …? And you painted it to match the one we had stayed in over the summer. That was … it was so _you_.”

“I also got you socks. You want to talk mundane ...”

“Davos, you gave me an exact replica of the socks I’ve been wearing every weekend all winter. Dark grey cashmere crew length. The same brand as I had found in Italy. You said it was against the day when mine started to wear out.” Stannis’ eyes softened for a moment. “And I went to the department store and bought you a _tie._ ”

“I can’t think of anything else I would have wanted. I mean, I have everything. We have everything, really. I have _you_.”

“Don’t get sentimental, Davos,” Stannis scolded. “There must have been something else you wanted.”

Davos stood up. “Sit down over there,” he told Stannis, pointing to the tall, wing-backed chair across the room. They rarely sat in it, but it was an imposing piece that had come down through Stannis’ family and had landed here when his brother had lost his house in the divorce. 

“What are—” 

“Don’t argue. Just sit.”

When Stannis complied, Davos approached and sat himself squarely in his lap. Stannis let his breath out in a huff. “What on _earth_ …”

“I’m going to tell you what I want for Christmas next year, _Santa,_ ” Davos said, kissing Stannis along the line of his jaw. “And if you don’t let me, then you can’t ever complain about what you give me ever again.”

Davos could tell it took an effort, but finally Stannis smiled. “Have you been good this year?”

“There’s only five days in the year so far,” Davos whispered, laving the stubbly neck with his tongue. Stannis bit back a groan. “I could be worse.”

“And what…” Stannis trailed off, closing his eyes. “And what do you want for Christmas … next year?” Davos slid his hand up Stannis’ thigh, pressing hard against his groin, nibbling on his earlobe. He let the question hang in the air while he let his hands and mouth wander, more firmly and with ebbing restraint.

“I want a train for Christmas,” he murmured finally.

Stannis pulled away. “A _train_?”

“Mm-hmm.” Davos shifted, threw a leg across Stannis’ lap and straddling him, unleashing another low sigh. “I want to ride the train across Canada with you. Or maybe the Trans-Siberian Railroad. Somewhere where we can watch the snow fall from the window of our private compartment, and where I can be alone with you in the winter, for days and days.”

“All right,” Stannis said, though his voice was dissipated, filtered through a fog of arousal. Davos smiled against his neck. He had done his work well. “If you’re good — or, I suppose, if you're bad, like you are right now — we can do that next winter. Is … is there anything else?”

“Another tie.”

This time, Stannis didn’t even look up from his hands that were busy at the buttons of Davos’ worn flannel shirt. “Another tie. Why another?”

Davos shivered as Stannis’ insistent fingertips met his skin. He took awhile to savor the feeling before answering. He wondered whether the ghosts of Stannis’ ancestors would haunt them were they to defile the family chair. Then: “For your other wrist,” he said.


End file.
